


Forbidden

by herondaym



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-25
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2018-10-24 00:10:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10730166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herondaym/pseuds/herondaym
Summary: I slipped the shirt over my head. It was plain white, cotton, nothing special, but as I felt it, I noticed two letters stitched into the hemline. FV. Barely noticeable in white thread, but beautifully stitched. I also noticed that it smelt like Francis, but pushed the idea of holding it to my face far into the corner of my mind. ‘You can turn back now, I’m decent.’ He turned, and raised his eyebrows when he saw me.‘I dare say it looks better on you.’He jovially threw himself back down beside me, and pressed a hand to my cheek.I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my breath hitched in my throat. Something flitted through Francis’s eyes as they met mine. I didn't dare move, not wanting to break this moment. And then Francis did something I would never have expected: he lent in towards me.Aylee is used to being overlooked. She is the youngest of Mary's ladies, and the plainest. But what happens when someone does notice her, someone she could never even dream of having? What if that person was betrothed to her queen?





	1. 1x01 part 1

**Author's Note:**

> Aylee was always my favourite character and I always thought that her and Francis would be great together. This is my first attempt at fan fiction, so constructive criticism will be gratefully received! This follows the basic structure of the episodes, but Aylee doesn't die after Nostradamus's vision. I have taken some liberties so the scenes taken from the show are not completely accurate as to how they happened.  
> Also, I've not quite gotten the hang of the format yet!

The carriage hit another bump. I jolted awake, clipping the side of my head on the wall of the carriage. I rubbed at it ruefully. Greer and Lola were both still soundlessly sleeping, leaning on one another on the seat across. I shifted round to see Kenna, who had awoken before me. She was fiddling with her necklace, clearly bored, but when she saw me looking she grinned.   
'Are you excited?' She asked me, her eyes sparkling. I could tell she was already planning what mischief she could get up to.  
'Not really,' I admitted, brushing the hair out of my face, 'I never like the castle. I always got lost.' I grimaced, imagining the embarrassment I would face trying to find my way around. Kenna laughed and shook her head at me. She opened her mouth to reply, but was cut off by the view out of the window. I turned my head to see what she was seeing, and saw the palace rise up before me. We had arrived.

I stepped out of the carriage after Kenna, trying to adjust to the sunlight. My friends had already moved away, standing in a line by the edge of the grass. A page stepped forward to help me down, clasping my hand gently. I hope he couldn’t feel how clammy it was. We were all nervous, though we tried not to show it. It had been a few years since we had last seen Mary. The four of us had remained close friends since our childhood at French court, but Mary had been distant from us, secluded for her own safety. We’d all missed her, but we’d spent slightly too long apart to feel completely at ease. I heard the rumble of another carriage, and turned my head.  
‘There’s Mary!’ I exclaimed, relief flooding through me as I realised I would be glad to see her.  
I took my place next to Kenna, watching as the French court assembled. We were attempting formality, but as we watched Mary descend from her carriage, we failed, and ran forward to greet her. She came towards us, more restrained. We paused in front of her, sinking into curtseys. As we rose, half-giggling, Mary reached out to us, and we embraced, the distance of the past few years fading away.  
We drew away, and Mary smiled at us. She seemed drawn, nervous, but I knew I would be too in her position. She reached out and stroked my hair.  
‘Aylee, we’re all together now.’ I grinned at her, and we all stood there for a moment, taking each other in. But then Mary turned, and so did we. Greer moved over to Mary’s other side, fussing about her hair, but her efforts were cut off by the arrival of our trunks. We watched in slight jealously as Greer’s great many trunks were unloaded, though she protested that it was not all clothes, there was jewellery too, and that she was only making up for her lack of station. I snorted, and turned towards the castle.   
A man strode towards us, gold gleaming on his head.   
‘The king.’ I murmured. A beautiful dark haired woman going him, to our confusion.  
‘Is that Catherine?’ Mary asked, but Kenna shook her head.  
‘No. That’s Dianne du Portier, the king’s mistress.’  
Mary broke away from us, stepping forward, to show her rank and greet the royals who approached.  
A hushed conversation followed, mentions of scandal and husbands, and Lola’s beau from Aberdeen. We watched as another man strode towards us, this one younger. His dark hair was tousled, his clothes neatly done up but clearly only just donned.   
‘Is that Francis?’ Kenna asked, looking him up and down. ‘He’s gorgeous.’   
‘No, that’s not Francis. I know it isn’t.’ Mary replied. That left one option: the king’s bastard.  
‘I hear the king favours him.’ Kenna added, but none of us were listening. Instead we were watching another woman walk towards us. Queen Catherine. She reached the king and his entourage, but moved in front. It sent a clear message: Catherine was in charge. No one doubted it, the steely look in her eyes made that quite clear.   
Another man approached from the side. His hair was longer than Sebastian’s, golden, and his clothes were dishevelled. He looked as though he didn’t care, which he most likely didn’t. He didn’t have to, for this was Francis. The king’s other son, dauphin, the future king of France. Mary’s betrothed.  
They shared a look, and we curtsied. We gained a bow in response, but there was no meaning. He barely knew we were there. I could tell that he wished he wasn’t there.  
He and Mary exchanged greetings, hers familiar, his formal.   
‘Call me Mary.’ She stated, flustered by his distance. Mary blithered, stating Francis was bigger than before, eliciting giggles from us and a bemused expression from Francis.  
‘Is that such a surprise?’  
Mary continued, expressing sentiments of their time spent as children. I knew what she was doing. She was nervous, worried what Francis would think, so she was trying to remind him of who she was. An attempt to be liked. Even queens struggle to make friends sometimes.  
Francis escorted Mary to greet his parents. We followed behind, closely, but at a respectful distance. We were, after all, only Mary’s ladies.

 

I stood in front of the mirror, admiring the baby pink gown Greer had gifted me.  
‘Are all these gowns from Paris?’ Mary enquired, and Greer confirmed cheerfully. We were stood in Mary’s chambers, Greer’s trunks from Paris scattered half opened across the room. Gowns in delicate silk and intricate lace spilled out, mixed with jewels in colours I’d never even dreamed of. My hair was plaited down the front so it framed my face, but remained a dull, flat blonde, a far cry from the thick curls my friends possessed. My lips were rouged and my eyes charcoaled, like the other ladies, but I knew I couldn’t pull it off the way they could. I was the youngest, and I looked it. I may have been the most titled, second only to Mary herself, but that did nothing for my looks. I had a baby face, and no amount of makeup could cover that. Lola spluttered a comment about us all looking of age, and I sighed quietly. If only that were true.  
‘You know what I’d like to do?’ I announced, surprising myself. ‘Explore. We haven’t been here since we were children. Surely the castle’s changed.’ Kenna grinned.  
‘Who’s with me?’ The other three ladies nodded and laughed, but as we ran out of the room Mary called after us: ‘Go ahead. There’s something I want to see.’

We ran down long corridors and up staircases, sought passageways that had long since curved in different directions. We got ourselves lost more times than I could recall, but we found our way eventually. I was taken back to my childhood, endless days spent playing hide and seek inside the castle walls. Of course, back then we knew Mary and Francis would be married. Mary would always find excuses for them to be alone. I suppose even back then she was a romantic. She’s barely spoken a word about Francis since we arrived, but I could read her like a book. She’d expected to return to find him madly in love with her, desperate to be her groom. Instead, he was distant, awkward almost. It had hurt her, distorted her fantasy life. I’ve never been jealous of Mary, with all her privilege comes great responsibility that I could never possibly handle, but I will admit that it brought me satisfaction to see. Mary always gets her way, and in a sense, it’s humbling to see her suffer as we do. It knocks her down a peg, from god to mere mortal, just like the rest of us.  
I stopped running. I thought I’d been following Kenna, but she’d vanished, perhaps found a little-used servant’s staircase to explore. I was lost, though had a vague recollection of visiting this corridor as a child. There was a door, partway along the wall, standing ajar. There was no one around. I thought, perhaps a peek would do no harm. I’m naturally curious, and opportunities like this rarely arise. It was just a storage room, filled with trunks. There was a wardrobe against one wall, and on top sat a box trailing furs. It was most likely just filled with Catherine’s old cloaks, but I wanted to know for definite. I picked my way across the room, climbing a sideways trunk propped up the side of the wardrobe. I wrapped my hands around the handle, and pulled, but it was stuck fast. I shifted my feet to get a better position, but moved my foot too far over, and the weight of the trunk slid. I fell, shrieking, into a pile of drapes. I coughed, a cloud of dust billowing around me.  
‘Hello?’ A voice called, and Francis stepped into the room.  
‘Aylee?’ He asked, moving quickly towards me. ‘Are you alright? What happened?’ I took the hand he extended to me and pulled myself up.  
‘Just shaken, I believe. I was exploring,’ I admitted sheepishly. Francis laughed, cheerfully, a complete contrast to his coldness towards Mary earlier.  
‘My chambers are just down this hall. I heard what I thought was a banshee screeching, so I had to make sure we were not overrun.’ I gasped, fake scandalised, and smacked his arm lightly.  
‘I do not screech! I am a lady.’ He chuckled again.  
‘As you insist, my lady.’ He bowed deeply, playfully mocking. This was not the Francis I remembered from childhood, nor the one I’d seen since we arrived.  
‘As I said, my chambers are just down the hall. Would you like to have a drink with me? It’s been so long since I saw you all, I must make an effort to become reacquainted!’ I smiled and accepted gratefully. It had been so long, and his words showed he was genuine. It would not be being alone with a man in his chambers. It would be two past playmates reminiscing on memories.  
‘I forgot how good French wine was!’ I exclaimed, clutching my second glass. ‘The wine in Scotland is not nearly as good.’  
He grinned. ‘Of course. How could I forget the time we stole a decanter from my mother and got ourselves drunk.’ I returned the smile. We’d thought we were so devious, although Catherine must have known. We’d received no punishment, though the headaches we all sported the next morning was enough motivation to not try it again.  
Francis leant over to pour me another drink. We were sat in his chambers, on a chaise beside the fireplace. He missed my cup, instead pouring it down the front of my bodice. He must have been drinking before he found me. It would explain the drastic change in character.  
He laughed apologetically. ‘Oops!’ I dabbed at it with my handkerchief, but it was no use.  
He continued, ‘I’ll get it laundered for you straight away. Take it off, and I’ll get my page to run it down to the kitchen.’ I stared at him, unsure if his offer was genuine.  
He stood up and moved across the room. He reached into his wardrobe, pulled something out, and threw it to me.  
‘Put that on for now. It’s a shirt of mine.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll turn around!’ He turned to face the wall, and I unlaced my bodice, noticing gratefully that the wine had not soaked through to my corset. I slipped the shirt over my head. It was plain white, cotton, nothing special, but as I felt it, I noticed two letters stitched into the hemline. FV. Barely noticeable in white thread, but beautifully stitched. I also noticed that it smelt like Francis, but pushed the idea of holding it to my face far into the corner of my mind.  
‘You can turn back now, I’m decent.’ He turned, and raised his eyebrows when he saw me.  
‘I dare say it looks better on you.’ I rolled my eyes, but felt a blush spread across my cheeks. He jovially threw himself back down beside me, and pressed a hand to my cheek.  
‘My word, Aylee, you’re practically as red as the wine!’  
I blushed more, and stuttered out a response, blaming it on the wine I resembled. Francis’s hand was still on my cheek. I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and my breath hitched in my throat. Something flitted through Francis’s eyes as the met mine. I didn't dare move, not wanting to break this moment. And then Francis did something I would never have expected: he lent in towards me. His lips brushed mine. I closed my eyes, leant into his hand, and pressed myself into his kiss. His other hand move onto my back. There was a knock on the door, and we drew back hastily. We stared at each other for a moment, before Francis leapt up before whoever it was opened the door themselves. I knew what it would look like to anyone who entered.  
‘Francis, I brought you something.’ I froze. It was Mary.  
‘I thought you could decorate your swords with them.’ Francis pulled the door closer into him, blocking any view Mary might have into his room.  
‘You shouldn’t be here unannounced, Mary. That’s what my page is for.’ I could feel Mary’s frown from inside the room.  
‘But I don’t- Are you with someone?’ I held my breath, praying she wouldn’t force her way in. I could only imagine the scandal.  
‘One thing you should learn, Mary. Kings do not answer to their wives.’ He shut the door, firmly, swiftly. He stood there, holding the handle, until we heard Mary’s footsteps retreat down the hall. He turned to face me, and his gaze caught mine. Neither of us knew what to say.


	2. Chapter 2

We stood there, silent. Francis made to move towards me, but I flinched and stepped backwards.  
‘I…’ I began, but I could not continue. What was there to say? I was alone with a man, my best friend’s betrothed. With my queen’s betrothed. In his bedchamber. And he had just kissed me.  
Francis leaned his head against the door, closing his eyes slowly.  
I tried again. ‘I should go.’ He opened his eyes to look at me, and an emotion I’d never seen before passed across his face. I glanced at the door behind him, fearful Mary was still lurking. Francis seemed to share my concern, as he moved across to the room to a large tapestry hung down one wall. He drew it back, revealing a door.  
‘This tunnel leads up to the east wing. Can you find your way from there?’ I nodded, despite not having a clue where the east wing was. He opened the door, stepping back so I could get through. As I left I glanced at him once more, but before either of us could speak, I turned, and disappeared down the tunnel.

I stood at the window in my bedchamber, my heart pounding. The past hour… I blushed just thinking of it. But no, I should not think of it. It will never happen again. If anyone found out… If Mary found out… No, she would not, no-one would. I shook my head, imaging the scandal, imaging it reaching my family back in Scotland.  
The view from my window was breath-taking. It looked out across the front of the castle; the lake, the woods, the gardens, all were visible. I watched as a party of men rode across the lawn, led by a man I recognised as the king’s bastard son. A figure rose from behind the reeds, someone I had not known was there, and I felt a pang of guilt when I saw it was Mary. She was just as lost and alone as the rest of us, perhaps more so. She did after all have the expectations of a country hanging over her. She moved away, towards the woods, but Sebastian dismounted and moved to block her way. I watched them in deep conversation. I had no idea what they were discussing, but every once in a while one of them would smile. A genuine smile. Mary broke off from the conversation, started walking back towards the castle, but turned back at something Sebastian said. I watched her closely, watched them together. She appeared to say nothing, just gave him a glance, before continuing towards the castle. As she walked away he followed her with his eyes. In them I saw the same odd emotion I saw in Francis’.

I made my way towards Mary’s chambers, wringing my hands nervously. She had sent for me. The rational part of my brain told me it was just because she needed to dress, but I still worried that somehow she knew that it had been me inside Francis’ chambers. I spotted Mary waiting outside her door looking as nervous as I felt, but she smiled when she saw me.  
‘I wasn’t sure you’d be able to find your way!’ The was no animosity in her voice. At least she did not know. She did not hate me, not yet anyway.   
‘You would not believe what happened to me today!’ She called, as I made my way down the hallway, ‘Sterling ran away! It was so strange, he’s normally so well behaved.’ She babbled on about wanting to go find him and knowing which way he had gone but I was distracted, only half listening until I heard her mentioned a name I knew only too well. I hadn’t been idle all afternoon, instead I’d set myself the task of learning all the court gossip. I would not allow myself to be caught out. The serving girl I summoned had been very willing to diverge the information, but I stopped her any time she brought up Francis.  
‘Bash?’ I questioned, and she paused to clarify.  
‘Yes, he happened upon me just as I was about to enter the woods.’ This I already knew, but Mary could not know. By this time, I had reached her, and feigned surprise. She opened the door, leading me inside, where the candles had already been lit.   
‘So Bash just happened upon you? I don’t believe that!’ I remember the look in his eyes, the way he’d stood so close to Mary. I wanted to encourage her, push her away from Francis towards Bash, but I knew I couldn’t. She was my best friend, and I could not allow her to trifle with a man of such reputation.  
‘He has a terrible reputation with women. He knows no bounds!’ It pained me to say it, but it was true nevertheless, and Mary needed to know.  
‘Maybe it runs in the family.’ Mary’s voice was dry, and I knew she was referencing Francis, and his rejection of her the afternoon. I stumbled, trying to form words. She turned to look at me, and I finally found my voice.  
‘Did something happen with Francis?’ I hoped she could not hear the tremor in my voice.  
‘No, no. Nothing.’ She glanced down, clearly uncomfortable with the offhand comment she had made. I moved towards her, made to speak, but she cut me off.  
‘Really. It’s fine. And we need to get ready for the wedding.’ I stepped back, grateful for the change in conversation. I started out of the room, trying to hide my deceit.  
‘I’ll tell the servants you are ready to be bathed and dressed.’ I continued out of the room, not turning as she called out thanks behind me.

Mary and I stood side by side, I watching the newlyweds dance, her making pleasantries with a nobleman. I saw Lola’s beau, Colin approach us, and turned to watch Lola’s face fall. I didn’t know what he was doing, and clearly neither did Lola. He presented Mary with a goblet of wine and made a toast. I kept my gaze on Lola, smiling sympathetically as she seemed to wilt. It was though she was worried he preferred Mary to her, as if she did not know how much Colin loved her. Anyone with eyes could see it. Colin moved away, and Mary caught Lola’s eye.  
‘Oh, Lola, no.’ I turned away, wishing no part in this, and caught Francis’s gaze from where he stood next to Bash. I felt a blush crawling up my face, so quickly averted my eyes to Bash, and found him watching Mary again.  
‘I want to dance,’ Mary announced, clearly having cleared things up with Lola and snapping me out of my gaze.  
‘You can’t dance alone,’ I muttered uncertainly.  
‘I won’t be alone.’ My face dropped as I grasped her meaning. I was no dancer, but she hurried off before I could protest. Lola and Greer were removing their shoes, and Kenna gestured for me to join them. Their giggling was contagious, and I soon dropped my reservations to join them. We moved out onto the dance floor, squealing with joy. I saw Francis out of the corner of my eye, looking confused. He wasn’t alone. I myself was confused as to what we were doing, but it had been so long since we’d laughed together that I could not resist. We stumbled around the dance floor, skipping and twirling and laughing, oblivious to the stares of the French. I watched as a lady near to Francis moved out to join us, and soon most of the ladies of the court were spinning and giggling alongside us. I paused, sort of breath. Bash was standing nearby, directly in my line of vision, leaning against a pillar and staring at Mary. Once again he had that look on his face, the one I was very quickly getting used to but still could not identify. Mary stopped as well, clearly dizzy, and caught Bash’s gaze. They shared a smile, neither dropping their gaze. I shifted my eyes to Francis, and saw him take note of the invisible conversation happening between his brother and his betrothed. He looked slightly puzzled, and slightly annoyed, but his eyes drifted over to me and his face softened. Something landed in my hair, and I looked up to see thousands of white feathers fall from a canopy attached to the ceiling. When I dropped my eyes back down Francis was still looking at me. He stepped forward and I found myself moving to meet him, but someone moved between us. That one person turned into ten, and I heard Kenna beside me whisper that it was time for the bedding ceremony. I felt my all too familiar flush return. But I began to wonder what it would be like to be held by a man, a lover, to be respected and loved and to love in return, to be kissed again. To be kissed again by Francis. I wanted to know. We all wanted to know. So with one last fleeting glance at Francis, I allowed myself to be pulled from the room, to find out what it was that none of us had yet experienced.


	3. Chapter 3

‘They actually watch them... you know?’ I mumbled, my face flushing with embarrassment. Kenna led us around a corner, to a grate hidden behind a curtain. I don’t know how she knew it was there. Or why she’d brought us here, to watch something so utterly private, something that should only be shared between lovers… I squeezed my eyes shut momentarily, trying to shake that train of thought out of my head. I knew none of the other ladies were thinking this deeply into it. They just wanted to know what they were in for when they married, were intrigued by the secrets that had barely been shared. I turned to glance at Mary. She looked pale, nervous. Maybe someone else was thinking about it as deeply as I. Kenna also turned to our queen, muttering with a smirk.   
‘Don’t you want to know what you’re in for someday? With your Francis.’ Mary just stared at her blank-faced, and Kenna turned back to grate, disappointed by the lack of rise from Mary. Inside my chest, my heart felt as though it had split into a million pieces. I could feel my face falling, and though I tried, I knew I could not prevent my emotions being clearly painted across my face. I just hoped the others would think it was just distaste at what we were doing.  
Kenna drew back the curtain. We watched, half intrigued half scared, as Elizabeth’s clothes were removed, until she was just standing in her corset and underskirt. It felt dreadfully like we were spying, though technically I suppose we were. But the people in the room did not seem phased, seemed to barely register what was going on a few meters away from them. A door banged and we all jumped, but it had come from inside the room, and we watched as the groom moved across the room to greet his new bride. Elizabeth threw a few nervous glances towards the assembled courtiers surrounding the room and she was led towards the bed, but eventually seemed gratified and allowed herself to be laid down without question. The curtains around the bed were drawn, thankfully blocking our view, but they did nothing to obscure the sound, or prevent the silhouettes of the couple from being shadowed across the fabric. My mind strayed back to Francis, to his kiss. Before I could check myself, I put me and him into the situation occurring in front of us. I could imagine him gently laying me down, could almost feel his strong arms wrapped around me. I tried to block the thoughts out, to turn my mind blank. But the thoughts kept coming. In front of me, Mary moved closer to the grate as though she wanted a better view. The look on her face was almost dreamy. I could tell she was having similar thoughts to myself. But who was the subject of her thoughts – Sebastian or Francis? My heart wrenched at the idea that Mary could be desiring Francis. In my head, Mary replaced me, while I stood nearby, forced to watch as my queen made love to the man that occupied my daydreams.  
I took a step back. A small gasp escaped from my lips. I could not watch this anymore. It was torture, a reminder that I could never have the one I yearned for. A reminder that royalty was for royalty. A reminder that Francis would marry Mary.  
‘We should go,’ I breathed, wanting to leave the suffocation behind. I moved away, unsure if the others were following. The pain I felt was agonising, as though my skin were being peeled away and my insides liquefied. I wanted to cry, to curl up and never resurface. After a brief pause I heard footsteps behind me, but did not want to wait. I wasn’t sure I could find my way back to my chambers on my own, though I did not care. I just wanted to get away from the royal consummation we had just eavesdropped on and my friends whose thoughts were for men they could have. I ran down a long corridor to my left, not caring whether it led in the right direction. I just needed to get away.   
Somehow I had managed to find my way back to the great hall. It was mostly cleared, but there was still a few people milling around and talking in small groups. In a group near the centre of the room I saw Francis. My heart contracted again, but I forced myself to ignore it. He was not for me. He glanced up, and saw me before I could duck behind a pillar. I watched him make his excuses to the group and move towards me. I shook my head, but he acted as though her had not seen and continued making his way across the room. I fought a battle inside my head, trying to decide whether to flee before he reached me or not. Eventually I settled for just turning my back, knowing that I would turn back as soon as he reached me.  
‘Aylee…’ I pursed my lips, trying to resist, but almost instantly I spun around to face him. I didn’t expect the look on his face: pain.  
He started to say more but I raised a hand to stop him. ‘Don’t, please.’  
‘Just let me speak. Please. I – I really just… I need to…’ He broke off. I understood, I didn’t know what to say either. We stood for a while, just looking at each other. He smiled at me suddenly, sadly.  
‘Friends?’ He extended a hand out towards me.  
‘Friends.’ I reached out to take it, and tried to ignore the sparks dancing across my fingers where they laced with his.


End file.
